Page 62 of Conquer
Chapter Nineteen
Vadim’s version of wining and dining centers around a gorgeous French restaurant in the heart of the city. The food is amazing, the wine even better, and as we sit at a private table amongst beautiful ambiance, one could easily assume it’d make for the most romantic tension ever.
Or not.
My date scowls during the entire meal and barely touches his food, too distracted by the thoughts in his head. It’s like I can see them, dancing across his expression one by one. Fear of losing Magda. Anger at Irina. Pain at the thought of Hiram’s betrayal.
By the time our waiter clears away our plates, I’m resigned to what I feel is my only course of action left, other than to let him brood.
“Talk to me,” I demand, reaching across the table to clasp one of his hands. He stiffens, refocusing on me. It’s like he forgot I was even here, so lost in his own torment. “Tell me what you’re feeling. Or…” I lick my lips, recalling the one method of communication between us that never seems to fail. “You can show me.”
He raises an eyebrow and lifts his hand from beneath mine only to capture my wrist. Curiosity alights those dangerous eyes, and I feel a thrill shoot through me.
“Show?” he wonders gruffly.
I nod and casually finger the low neckline of my dress with my free hand, deliberately drawing his attention downward. “If you don’t want to talk to me, then show me. Let me feel what you’re feeling.”
His lips press together in a thoughtful gesture. “Sexual torment?” he muses in a tone so dark… I almost—almosthave second thoughts. If only the logical part of my brain isn’t instantly drowned out by the lustful part, who relishes the avenues ventured by his twisted whims.
“I’m here for you,” I tell him, sounding more earnest than I think I have about anything in my life—other than when I said the same to Magda. “Let me be here.”
He stands, pulling me to my feet. In a whirlwind blur, we leave the restaurant and return to the car. It isn’t long into the drive that I become eerily familiar with the direction we’re headed in.
But before anything of note appears on the horizon, Vadim makes time for something far more important than sex.
“Goodnight,ma chérie,” he says into his cell phone, once again speaking to Magda. My heart swells as some softness seeps into the hardened lines of his expression as he lets her regale him with more of her day. But I think real tears prick my eyes as, instead of hanging up, he offers the phone to me.
“Goodnight, honey,” I tell her, sensing from her slurred reply that she’s already half asleep.
The brief, domestic moment makes for a startling contrast to our eventual destination—an infamous club that happens to be partially owned by the man beside me.
An ominous shiver runs down my spine as he takes my hand, and we exit the car. Once inside the familiar ebony walls, Vadim leads me boldly through an archway in the direction opposite the club floor. It doesn’t appear to lead to the upstairs level either, but some new taboo section, and I have to admit my interest is piqued.
“I mentioned to Milton that I wished to expand my private use of the club,” he explains as my eyes excitedly scan the corners, hunting for any hint of where we might be headed. So far, all that greets me is a long, winding hallway draped in shadow. “He and Maxim both have rooms here,” he adds, steering me forward as the corridor begins to curve. “He granted my request.”
That being his own “private space,” presumably lurking beyond a massive ebony door waiting up ahead. That ominous tingle strengthens, turning into a shudder I can’t suppress. Excitement becomes a palpable thing—I can almost taste it.
Dark, dangerous kink.
Still, I try my best to cut the tension. “Milton granted your request,” I parrot, leaning against him playfully. “Is he in charge?”
“No,” Vadim says, his tone suddenly serious. He brings me to a stop as we reach the door. With one hand, he pushes it open, while the other captures the side of my face, forcing me to meet his gaze directly. “Youare in charge,” he tells me huskily. Before I’ve even processed those words, he gently shoves me back, forcing me to stagger over the threshold of the room. “Always… Of how much of yourself you are willing to submit. Of how far you’ll allow me to go. Of your trust. Ofme.”
Sensory overload. Especially as I find myself turning to take in the room we’re in—a beautiful, haunting space decorated almost entirely in hues of black and navy. The man has certainly researched kink down to an art form. I blink as my brain races to take in every last detail.
There are windows, large and rectangular with a view overlooking what appears to be an enclosed courtyard complete with a bubbling, black marble fountain. Plush, ebony carpeting lends to a mysterious aura only enhanced by matching curtains. A lone leather chaise positioned near the windows serves as the sole piece of traditional furniture.
Because everything else is so very NSFW.
“Holy crap,” I whisper as my eyes fall over one promising structure directly ahead. Extending from the ceiling in a display of expert craftsmanship is a round, circular base hung upright with two strips of material dangling from the bottom. Longer, larger sections dangle directly from the ceiling, framing it at all four corners.
It’s a fancy version of a sex swing.
Beyond it, I recognize the pillory from the house, along with a few hanging cabinets, no doubt containing more goodies.
“A fitting enough playground?” Vadim wonders, coming up behind me. I’m too busy staring to answer him right away. Awed, I continue to take in the meticulously compiled décor—and all the while, his hands slide down my shoulders, removing my dress as they go.
I’m only vaguely aware of the material falling to my hips—and promptly tugged down the rest of the way. All I can do is surrender to his touch as my attention fixates back on the swing. My thoughts whirl, quickly envisioning how many naughty, twisted things he could do to me on it.
